


First Contact

by PaxVobis



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Eye Trauma, Eyes, Gen, Hangover, but just lite you know, mtl trick or treat 2018, very silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 07:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxVobis/pseuds/PaxVobis
Summary: Happy Halloween!  You got a trick!Dick Knubbler the morning after.





	First Contact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vaterwhorelaag](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=vaterwhorelaag).



Dry eyes.

That’s what coke did to you.  Dry, heavy eyes, and a tongue covered in scum, your skin paper-thin.  You pulled an all-nighter on the white stuff and the next thing you knew you were the living dead, rising from the grave of your bed with that hard feeling, glass shards pushed under your eyelids, your crowsfeet stretched tight on your face.  A hangover, a comedown.  Like your eyes would just fall out.

Dick knew this feeling like he knew the backs of his hands, lined as they were and speckled with scars from acid backsplash, but he knew even better that it didn’t mean shit.  He’d still have to get up, get dressed, put in his contacts and don cap and sunglasses, and haul himself to the coffee place – which was now a Duncan Hills chain – for the vital work  of a long mach and cigarettes before even considering doing actual work.

He wiped the drool gunk from the corners of his mouth and hauled himself off of his broad bed, like he’d managed to get into the apartment and into the bedroom but only that far, collapsing on top of the sheets with half his shirt buttons stripped open.  Well, at least that meant he didn’t have to get dressed again, ha.  A bit of cologne and no one would know.  Dick got to his feet, wobbling, pinching his nose and sniffing to dislodge the dried blood crust from inside his nostrils.  Shaking fingers raked his thin hair back over his scalp.  Then a handful of painkillers, their bitter, powdery skin sticking to his dry throat as he threw them down and choked to swallow them.

Snapping the bathroom light on at the wall didn’t make any difference, and Dick swore as he flicked it back and forth.  Globe must have blown.  What time was it to be this dark anyway – had he slept through into night again?  Wouldn’t be the first dang time.  But by his watch, still on his wrist from the night before complete with livid red marks where it had pushed into his skin all night, it was almost 11 in the morning.

He faced up to the bathroom mirror and felt blindly for his contact lenses.  His sunglasses, you see, were not prescription so without these little fuckers he was blind – though the sun in Hollywood, the vast white roads, would have blinded him instantly anyway.  So two steps were necessary where others only had one.  Fucking 20:20 folks, didn’t know what they had going for them, and, “Fuck,” he whispered as he pinched his nose again, feeling the weight behind his eyes.  As if they’d plop out into the sink before him, congealed blood running down his face.  Since the submarine accident, these thoughts would not leave him alone – so he was aware of the pressure in his face, in his blood.  Even in the shallow elevation of his condo – even here.

His skinny fingers closed around the contact lens case and Dick fumbled to untwist the caps, his fingers shaking.  He couldn’t see himself in the mirror, just a blank pane before him, and he aggressively ignored it as he did all hallucinations.  His skull ached, deep and dim – he should have hit the heavy opioids, none of this doctor’s orders shit.  Dethklok had had the right idea when he’d first gotten out of hospital, y’know, the real shit.  As he got the caps off the lens case, the contents splashed over his hand and the sink and Dick swore at it as he froze dead.  Now the lenses were somewhere in his vicinity, sprayed over the bathroom counter or the mirror or the floor or his clothes...

The thing about contacts was that they were very thin pieces of glass, see, transparent, smaller than a penny.  Really minuscule.

The thing about needing contacts to see was that you could not see small things, or make out subtle tricks in the light such as from a concave piece of glass, from a distance.

In other words – “God fucking damn it!” – Knubbler held his hands up in defeat, and then cast the holder into the basin viciously.  This was very un-metal.  He stood back carefully, lowering his heels delicately as if, should the tiny slivers of glass be caught beneath them, he could tread so softly as to not crush them completely.  But as soon as he looked down his body, across the basin – well, it would be an overstatement to call it magic.  Call it focus.  But his gaze snapped straight to one of the lenses, stuck to the side of the faucet.

Dick plucked it off between delicate fingers.  Well, first things first – before he tried to look for the other, he washed off the lens with the cleaning liquid and then balanced it precariously on his fingertip.  The lack of reflection made this next step pretty hard, but he’d never let hallucinations get in his way in the past.  Facing the mirror through sheer habit and narrowing his lips to a thin purse, Knubbler introduced the lens to his eyeball, carefully navigating it on his fingertip to press against the film of his retina –

Only to have it splat flat against the glass, oozing lens fluid down his vision.  Suddenly, his finger extended and pressed against his eyeglass, Knubbler realised the inanity of all his actions up to this point.  His eyes couldn’t feel heavy, because he didn’t have eyes anymore.  What felt heavy was the cyborg contraptions mounted in them – why he couldn’t see his reflection, since they weren’t light operated – that was coming, said Offdensen – why it still seemed dark - why he fixed so easily on the lens.  He was a changed man now.  A wealthy man.  But still poor, it appeared, on judgement first thing after a cocaine bender.

“Oh, dang,” said Knubbler to his imagined reflection, still facing it out of habit alone.  At least he wouldn’t need his sunglasses.

**Author's Note:**

> Metalocalypse Trick or Treat 2018 for Vaterwhorelaag on Tumblr, whose trick prompt was: "Dick Knubbler trying to put his contacts in right when he wakes up but he already has cyborg eyes so have fun short circuiting idiot". Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
